A man cautiously wandered down a path in the deep woods.
He was lost.
He had stumbled upon a well-worn trail, hoping it might lead him back to a village, or at least to some fellow travelers. But the path led nowhere… nowhere but deeper into the forest’s dark and silent heart.
He paused, glancing quickly around.
He could not see the beast, but he felt its presence. He knew it was there, trailing him, somewhere in the shadow of the trees, just out of sight. It called to him, mocking him with every step, echoing his choices like a cruel reflection.
He had battled the beast many times. Always to a standstill.
Neither side ever winning. Neither gaining the upper hand for long.
But the man knew that one day, his luck would run out.
His scars ran deep. The years had slowed his step, dulled his reflexes, clouded his mind. The beast, ageless and tireless, had only grown stronger. It had learned from their fights, adapted, evolved. And it was patient.
The man knew that one day, he would face it, truly face it, for the last time.
A twig snapped behind him.
He reached for the hilt of his sword, body turning before thought could catch up. And as he charged toward the unseen foe, a fragment of an old poem flashed unbidden through his mind.
He smiled at the irony.
“Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward…”
